


Offscreen

by dustbunnyprophet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Demisexual Michele, Getting Together, Group 13, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, yoi collab game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet
Summary: Their world was made of the blinding light of the camera flashes, the excited squeals of fangirls and fanboys alike. It was long hours spent learning scripts, and even longer ones shooting the same scene over and over again.But it was the precious moments offscreen that made acting worthwhile.A story of friendship, pining and love.An Emimike fic.Part of theYOI Collab Game"As Seen on TV"





	1. Hairspray and Sequins

Michele stepped into the dressing room. He closed the door behind him, scrunching his nose at the lingering smell of hairspray. After nearly a decade in the business Michele still could not get used to it. Or to the uncomfortable feeling of make-up on his skin. A large brush was sweeping over his sister’s face and Sara’s eyes were closed as the makeup artist applied the umptenth layer of foundation on. Judging by her lack of reaction she hadn’t noticed his arrival. So with a nod to the woman working on Sara’s makeup, Michele plopped down on one of the armchairs and waited. 

There was a nylon wrapper bunched on the other armchair, and next to it on the wall hung the bright violet dress. The tastefully designed gown had been especially made for Sara to wear for the opening night of the Lombardia Trophy. The ISU Network did not keep a tight budget when it came to internationally broadcasted events like the festival his sister was going to co-host this year. Watching the glimmer of the indigo sequins against the violet georgette, Michele recalled the shouting matches and not so subtle nagging from both him and her agent that had been necessary to convince her to accept the offer. Even though Michele genuinely tried to stay out of Sara’s career choices, he had not been able to let her refuse this chance. 

The Lombardia Trophy Music Festival had a wide audience, like all the other Challenger Awards. It was not a small thing to be offered to host it.

Sara had yelled and argued that she was an actress, and that meant  _ acting,  _ not prancing around being pretty. And she was right. Completely so. But this was her chance to shine, to break free from the stereotyped sitcom roles she kept landing over and over. 

It made Michele seethe to think of how his sister was being perceived. Just because she started her career as a model. She had taken acting lessons since they were little, and Michele had only joined them because he wanted to be by her side. And yet in the end it had been  _ his  _ career that had skyrocketed shortly after he had entered the showbiz. He had been cast in  _ Destiny of Knights,  _ and the fantasy series had gotten him a strong fanbase, propelling him toward more serious roles. And to his first TV award.  _ Serenade for Two  _ had gotten the Golden Spin TV Award for its first season, and its second season was a critic darling as well.

Michele had it easy, while Sara, had to struggle twice as much to get an ounce of recognition. It was only thanks to her mulish stubbornness and unrelenting grit that she had gotten this far. So yes, she may have been picked to co-host the Lombardia Trophy festival for the wrong reasons, because every good host needed a beautiful woman at his side. But this was the business, and Michele had learned the hard way that neither he nor his sister would benefit from fighting windmills. If they wanted to succeed they needed to play by their rules. It went against his very nature, but the Rostelecom Awards incident had taught him better. If it hadn’t been for Emil back then, Michele didn’t know how he would have made through those months of radio silence from his sister.

He swallowed, looking at the white wall behind the dress, and willing the memories away. It was all in the past. His sister was by his side once again, and if there were boundaries he now had to respect, he would do it gladly. Anything for Sara.

“Stop glaring at the wall, Miche’.” Michele whiplashed out of his thoughts, as his sister quipped tartly. and he snapped his eyes up to met hers in the large mirror. Sara’s reflection grinned at him with a knowing look, and Michele scoffed.

“I was not glaring.” he replied, almost impishly, trying to regain his usual composure.

“Sure, you weren’t.” she winked, then settling her face into a more serious expression “Shouldn’t you be in the studio?”

“We finished shooting for today.” he told her “I thought I’d come and watch you from the backstage.”

Sara gave him a nod between two smears of lipstick. The make-up artist, to her credit, was entirely unbothered by it, working her brush with deft hands, and applying a thick coating of matte lipstick on his sister’s lips. Gloss and glitter did not work well under the spotlights, Michele had learned long ago. Anything that shone, including the natural sheen of skin looked horrible under the bright lights. It was frankly the only reason why he allowed the torture of having makeup applied to his face.

“You’ll make it on Saturday for the closing night?” Sara asked after the brush lifted from her lips, and the make-up artist rummage through her supplies.

“Of course. I got my dinner jacket dry cleaned too.” he replied “and Emil will be flying from Ostrava if they manage to finish shooting by Friday.”

“I’m sure he’ll make it. Emil would not miss the after party.” she joked, and Michele couldn’t help the chuckle that rose from his lips. Emil was the sociable one, his enthusiasm making up for Michele’s grimness and Sara’s often too serious attitude. There was something about him that was bright like spring sunlight. Something that never failed to elicit a pinprick of wistfulness in Michele’s chest. But that was a phenomenon Michele was quite apt at ignoring. And if sometimes it felt like he was missing something, like there was a spidering crack inside him that begged to be filled, Michele had learned not to care.

Or at least to pretend not to.

“There, all set.” the quiet voice of the make-up artist dragged his thoughts to a screeching halt, and Michele exhaled in silent gratitude. That was not a train of thought he should be boarding. Ever.

“Thank you.” Sara told the woman while she looked at her handiwork on the mirror. “Could you tell the hairdresser-”

“Of course”

“Thank you.” 

“Ready for the big night?” he asked his sister who was tilting her chin to look at the flawless contouring the make-up artist had made. She eyed him with a halfhearted withering look before turning her chair on its axis and facing him.

“You better be right about this gig, Miche’.” Sara told him with a determined look “Because I’m not doing this again.”

“Sara-”

“You haven’t been at the rehearsals.” she snapped harshly “The way they treat me-”

“Have they done something?” Michele was already getting to his feet, rightful anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach and rising up his windpipe.

“Chill Michele, for heaven’s sake! The just talked to me like I’m a five year old child.” she exclaimed. Then her, lips curled into a displeased grimace “I know what they are thinking.” she said bitterly “All looks and no brains.”

“They are idiots!” Michele exclaimed hotly, and his sister replied with the same heat 

“I know! That’s why I’m angry.” then huffing, her voice steadied “Morooka is not so bad at least.”

“The Japanese guy?”

“The main host, yes.” Sara nodded “It took me a bit to get used to his manners, and his loudness. Christ, that man does not need a microphone!” she laughed “But seriously, though, he’s really an alright guy.” 

“I’m sorry I insisted-” Michele began contritely, but his sister butted in sharply.

“I wouldn’t have accepted this job if I had been completely against it.” she told him “I know this is important. It’s an international festival, and it will be broadcasted on all the ISU channels. This is my shot at something better than the romantic lead, or the good looking neighbour.” she said sourly.

“You forgot the shows where you play both.” Michele joked with a wry curl of his lips, stifling the scorching anger that made him want to lash out at the management. To  _ demand  _ his sister received the treatment she deserved and got constantly denied. Year after year. 

For the second time that evening Michele’s thoughts veered back to the Rostelecom Award. But just as he felt the bile rise up there was a knock on the door. And a moment later a middle aged hairdresser was poking her head through.

“Come in, come in.” his sister waved at the woman, and Michele blinked before giving his sister a nod. 

It was his cue to leave.

And if there was still  an ugly aftertaste on his lips as the recollection of their early days in the business kept replaying in his mind it didn’t matter. Sara was still here, despite it all. Despite Michele’s smothering attitude, his bursts of anger, his overprotective streak. She had forgiven him every mistake, every instance in which he had acted like Sara was not able to fight her own battles, when he was fully aware that at the end of the day it was her who was the strong one. Not Michele.

So he sighed, pushing it all back.

“I’ll be around the backstage.” he told her and Sara gave him a smile before settling back into the chair to patiently wait for her hairdo to be done.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is nearly finished, and I will be posting the new chapters every two days. Thank you for reading and don't forget to drop a comment! <3


	2. Breaths And Heartbeats

The tarmac of the factory lot was cracked. Sickly looking weeds grew in the small patches of dry ground. They gave the deserted industrial complex an air of abandonment that made Emil feel like he had truly stepped in the dystopian world of  _ Anastasis. _ He inhaled the dry air, savouring the realism of this setting. It was sure going to be a welcome reprieve from the usual green screen. Emil had never been overly fond of it to begin with. It was a nearly permanent fixture in the kind of shows he usually starred in, that was true, but even after years he still struggled with the emptiness of it. He had to use his imagination to fill in the sizeable gaps. And it was not an easy feat. He was a method actor. And managing tangible objects, connecting his emotional memories to the feel of them was the centre of his acting technique. The green screen, on the other hand was like a void that would later be filled with CGI and whatnot. 

But this was the real thing. The Ostrava industrial zone had its gritty corners like the closed factory complex they were currently using as set. And Emil could not help grinning as he took in all the details of his surroundings. They would be shooting the next three episodes of  _ Anastasis  _ here, and it was just perfect. 

Old piping systems sneaking around walls, tall chimneys, and rusty gurneys rising against a dove grey sky. Cracked windows, caked with dirt and cobwebs, and then large metal doors, some closed, others opened enough to let a sliver of light on the dirty concrete floors inside.

He couldn’t wait. 

Whipping out his phone he snapped a couple of photos. Then with a few taps on his screen he sent them to Mickey.

_ No CGI today! Old school filming instead!  _ he typed as he practically skipped his feet on the way to the trailer that would be his home for the next few days. Just as he reached the door his phone chimed and he lowered his hand, opening Mickey’s message.

_ It’s post-industrial grime. But whatever makes you happy.  _

Emil barked out a laugh as he read Mickey’s snarky reply. He could picture with utter clarity the unimpressed look on the Italian actor’s face. To anyone else his tone would have been outright rude, but Emil knew his glum veneer was just a facade. It was enough to see the careful way he treated Sara to know that underneath all the rudeness and aggressivity Michele Crispino was soft. And Emil had known him long enough to read between the lines. He scoffed, complained, told him to sod off, but there was no real rejection. There never was. Mickey wanted him around. 

Because he was his friend.

And if Emil secretly yearned for more, for things he could not have, it didn’t really matter. He would put a sincere smile on his face, and remind himself he had plenty to be happy about. Having Mickey as his friend was privilege enough.

Something familiar clenched inside his chest, and he rubbed his breastbone absent-mindedly.

_ Still on set? Or are you done for the day?  _ Emil typed, trying to will the unwanted pinprick of emotion away. 

Body working almost on autopilot he opened the trailer door and ushered himself in the small cramped space. It was just barely tall enough Emil didn’t have to crouch. Careful not to hit his head he dumped his bag on the makeshift sofa before slumping down on the cushions himself.

It was easy to forget sometimes that they would only ever be friends. That in spite of their closeness there was no further line to cross. But even if it sometimes hurt, like a dull ache in the back corners of his chest, Emil had long learned to accept it. And cherish what he got. 

His phone pinged.

_ On break,  _ Michel wrote, telling Emil about the umptenth time they had been shooting the same scene, and giving him updates on Sara. Emil had managed to catch the second half of the opening night of the Lombardia Trophy, and he told Mickey as much. They sent messages back and forth until Emil glanced at the clock above the small sink of the trailer kitchenette, and startled realised he was running out of time.

With a grimace, he reluctantly sent an  _ I gotta go now.  _

He didn’t truly want to say goodbye, but he had to. He had to go through his breathing exercises before went on set. Not for the first time Emil felt a pinprick of envy for those actors who were able to simply walk on the set and slip on a mask. Who didn’t have to go through an hour worth of breathing and relaxing exercises to get rid of any leftover tension before they were fit to act. Who didn’t have to carefully shelf emotional memories to use them for summoning emotions at will. Actors like Mickey, who no doubt flipped his phone screen off and in a matter of minutes would be in the middle of the set, acting.

Not that Emil regretted his choice of acting school. After all unlike him, Michele was not able to convey the subtle emotions only method acting could bring out. 

But then again there was nothing subtle or nuanced about Mickey in real life either. Emil’s lips curled in a lopsided grin, and an unvolutary huff of wry laughter escaped his lips. 

Mickey was like uncharted land, foreign and new, always unpredictable in his veneer. But assertive, ever and always. He was bright colours, strong emotions, and a fuse so short sometimes Emil wondered if there was any to begin with. 

He was perfect. 

And that was it. The thing that kept Emil from making peace with his emotions and letting them go. Mickey was perfect in his endless array of imperfections. Because even his worst shortcomings were a byproduct of the passion that defined him. Of the earnest emotions that were just too large to be confined within him. And it took Emil but a glance in those violet eyes to remind himself of it, to feel his heart swell to bursting, skipping beat after beat. To be filled with a foolish hope that only lasted the millisecond it took for guilt to squash it down.

For the second time in less than an hour Emil had to close his eyes and remind himself Mickey was his  _ friend.  _ They were friends.

Just friends.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

Emil swallowed down, feeling his throat dry. Absentmindedly he rummaged through his backpack for a bottle of water. But even as he mechanically uncorked it and took a gulp of lukewarm water, Emil’s thoughts refused to dissipate. And that was not good. 

Aside from the obvious, he needed to relax.Time was flying, and he needed all the kinks and knots of tension gone before he could step on the set. 

He needed his mind blank. 

Closing his eyes, he began counting his breaths, focusing on the intake and outtake of air. In and out. Breathing with his diaphragm, pushing the air out of his lungs from the bottom of his chest. In and out. Still Mickey’s grumpy face kept lingering on the back of his eyelids, forcing his attention inwards, instead of outwards.  _ Inhale. And exhale. Feel the tip of your fingers, your joints, one by one. Focus on them.  _ Emil could almost hear the voice of his teacher guiding him through the motions. Reminding him that unresolved emotions were something that had no place in method acting. Their technique was all about being in control. About being able to keep a number of emotions on the backburner, summoning them at will whenever a scene required them. 

And the mixture of sadness and yearning that underlined Emil’s feelings for his friend was  _ not  _ something he could control. Let alone use.

It was something to contemplate in the dark hours of the night when his mind lingered between wakefulness and sleep, or something to be reminded of whenever Mickey texted him, or they skyped. It was something to cradle, and to protect. It was precious even if it was laced with the knowledge nothing would ever come of it. 

Exhaling, Emil started moving his arm and relaxing his muscles one by one. It was not easy. Not one bit. But eventually even Mickey’s face began to fade away. 

And the refreshing blankness of a clean slate welcomed him for another day of acting.

 


	3. Coffee Cups and Stray Thoughts

It was a long and uncomfortable taxi ride. More than once Michele found himself cursing the Milan traffic with its sluggish pace and the thick blanket of smog lingering above them. After many years of living in the metropolis, Michele had yet to get used to the bleakness of the weather in Northern Italy. Growing up in the sun-kissed outskirts of Naples, it had been quite a shock to be met with the dreariness of fog and a horizon devoid of the dark blue strip of sea he had been used to seeing. Milan was a lovely city, but it was not Naples. 

Or Rome. He was quite sure he would have been a better fit for the vibrant Italian capital. But Sara and him had gotten their jobs in the Milan based TV station, and that was that. 

He shook his head lightly, looking at the rapidly approaching complex of the Malpensa airport. They were nearing the entrance and Michele was starting to feel antsy for a reason quite different from the annoyance of traffic. 

Emil would land in less than an hour. 

They had managed to finish shooting in Ostrava and the cheerful Czech actor was flying to Milan. 

The taxi took its merry time getting to the entrance of the airport, and by the time he pulled over, Michele’s foot had started bouncing on the grey carpeting of the cab. He  _ knew  _ he had more than enough time to get to the arrivals area and wait for Emil, but he could help feeling like he was wasting precious time.

Adjusting his shades on his nose Michele strode through the sliding doors of the airport entrance and made a beeline to the closest screen displaying the arrival order of flights. The flight from Ostava would arrive in approximately 45 minutes, he read, exhaling some of the tension, but not getting completely rid of it.

It was always the same thing whenever Emil and him managed to see each other. Whether it was Michele taking a flight to Prague or Emil coming to Milan there was always a knot of anticipation tightening the base of his stomach. And standing in the middle of the Malpensa airport Michele felt no different. 

Having quite some time to kill, and determined not to spend it by getting lost in his own uncharitable thoughts, Michele made his way towards one of the coffee shops. He was sure Emil would be famished after his flight, so he made sure to pick something for him along with a foamy cup of  _ latte macchiato _ for himself. Choosing the most secluded seat in the shop, Michele sagged his shoulders trying to look as inconspicuous as he could. He was not in the mood for dealing with fans.

Not that he ever was. His sister was the one smiling to her fans, signing autographs with a flourish and taking commemorative photos with everyone who asked. Michele on the other hand had struggled all his life with human interactions, so it was really no surprise he had not idea how to deal with squealing teenage girls blushing as they begged him to sign their notebooks, or arms. Or on the one most traumatically memorable occasion, a cleavage.

Michele shook his head, trying to banish the mental image. He had no idea what face he must have made when that girl had boldly put her sharpie in his hand and thrust her chest forward, but Sara was still teasing him whenever she recalled it. 

Maybe he should have wondered why he was disgusted at the notion of autographing an admittedly pretty girl’s cleavage, but it was the same old story since he had hit puberty. While his fellow classmates had been hormonal beasts, ogling anything that moved, let alone breathed, Michele had always been mildly put off by it. And not just girls, but boys too. Sara had never made a secret of her interest in girls, so Michele had been quite open-minded about the possibility. But he just wasn’t interested in either. 

Not on the surface level at least. 

Because for all of his lack of interest calling himself ace did not feel right either. Sara said that maybe he was just waiting for the right person. And whenever she did there was a knowing glimmer in her violet eyes. He couldn’t argue either way with her, so he just let it slide as the unimportant thing that it was. 

Sighing against the rim of his styrofoam cup Michele put a stop to his musings and fished his phone from his pocket to check the time. Thirty minutes give or take. 

Time was truly dragging endlessly. Michele resigned himself to checking his social media. After scrolling down his twitter timeline, his facebook wall, checking the daily news, and playing a couple of rounds of a mind numbing game on his phone, Michele gazed at his the thin sediment of sugar and foam that was left in his coffee cup. Bored out of his wits. 

But there was also an undercurrent of restlessness sizzling in his limbs that seemed to slowly grow more and more intense as the time to Emil’s arrival drew closer. He pushed his chair back and stood up, picking the paper bag with the sandwich for Emil as he left the coffee shop. It would be better to pace around the airport than sit there idly.

Eventually the minutes ticked by, and what felt to Michele like a small eternity, the large screen to his left signalled Emil’s flight had landed. At last. Now it was only a matter of minutes before the shaggy haired actor would be walking through the gates, no doubt grinning like the cheerful idiot he was. Michele’s lips pulled in a small smile as he summoned the familiar face in his mind. 

Only to grow larger as he spotted the real one towering above the shorter mass of passengers that were streaming out of the arrivals gate. Blond beard and hair sticking in all direction, Emil was hard to miss. He could not see his eyes, but he could easily picture them shining when he started waving at Michele with his long arms, practically bouncing as he made his way through the gate.  

And Michele had to stifle his grin, because it would be out of character. But he could not help the fluttering of warmth pooling in his stomach as Emil reached him and threw his willowy limbs around him in an all too familiar embrace.

“Mickey!” he shouted, lifting Michele an inch from the floor and squishing him against him.

“I need my eardrums you moron!” he protested loudly, trying to squirm out of the embrace even though he didn’t really want to. But that was the way they did things. Emil would be overly affectionate and Michele would primly push him away with a snarl. 

“Aw come one, Mickey! I haven’t seen you in ages!” Emil exclaimed, large grin spreading over his bearded face.

“We facetimed yesterday.” Michele replied with a faux snarl. And if his heart kept beating fast he chose to ignore it.

“That’s not the same thing!” Emil replied with a small pout, letting Michele go, but keeping an arm across his shoulder as they began moving towards the airport exit “This is much better, Mickey.” he told him with a wide grin “So how is it on set?”

“Same as always. We’re nearly done shooting the third season.” Michele replied, sinking into the half embrace, and not dwelling too much on the fact as he relied all the anecdotes from work Emil had already heard succinctly during their calls. 

On his lips a smile danced shyly.

 


	4. Red Carpet and Stage Lights

The event was the usual red carpet one. The blinding light of the camera flashes, the excited squeals of fangirls and fanboys alike, the shouted questions of reporters that crowded the low fence separating the guests from the rest of the world. Emil grinned all the way, feeling the bubbling of mirth whenever he spotted Michele’s carefully concealed sour expression. They were actors after all, they knew how to hide their true selves, but Emil also knew Mickey like the back of his hand, and there was the telltale tightness at the corner of his eyes that spoke of annoyance and exasperation in equal measure. It was truly funny sometimes how much the redhead disliked attention, given his choice of career.

The way across the red carpet was as long as always. Every now and then the guests walking ahead of them would stop for a photo or an autograph, and everyone had to stop as well. It was common courtesy after all. But almost as if the heavens were feeling particularly ironic tonight, the  _ Stammi Vicino _ power couple was just in front of them delaying the whole procession to Mickey’s more and more obvious dismay. Emil stiffled a chuckle as Victor Nikiforov threw his umptenth heart-shaped smile at the cameras, pulling a slightly more reserved Katsuki Yuuri into the spotlight with him. 

Emil liked the two actors well enough, they were quite fun to be around to. And normally Michele did not mind them. But he could see the squaring of his friend’s jaw as they waited, inevitably getting showered with autograph requests, and dozens upon dozens of questions. 

The tension in Mickey’s posture did not leave until they were finally ushered into the large theatre and pointed to their third row seats. 

And then the lights dimmed and the show began.

An hour later Emil found himself spending more and more time watching Mickey rather than the show. It felt wrong somehow, and yet his eyes kept being drawn to fiery hair aglow under the orange light, and the thin lips pulled in the tiniest of smiles. He was a sight to behold. He always was, but more so when he felt safe enough to lower the steel barriers he usually kept erect around himself. It was a rare sight. 

Emil’s chest twitched with that same old same old longing he had buried so deep he somedays forgot about but was unable to get rid of. 

He swallowed. Michele was just so beautiful. Skin still tan in spite of the foggy skies of Milan, and violet eyes tethering on the edge between warm and cold. And his lips, his  _ smiles _ . Emil clenched the armrest in a vice-like grip, digging his fingers in the maroon fabric. 

It was wrong to think of him like this. Mickey was his friend. His very much uninterested in men or women - or any gender identity for that part - friend. He had known the twins for years, and if there was one thing he had learned about Mickey it was he had  _ never  _ shown romantic interest for anyone. And it was alright. Emil respected that.

But it was because of that respect that he often felt like he was trespassing an unwritten line whenever his thoughts strayed in that direction. It was not right to look at Mickey with  _ want.  _ It felt like lying, like his friendship was nothing but a mean to an end. But it wasn’t. It  _ wasn’t.  _ Their friendship was one of the most precious things in Emil’s life, and no misguided attraction would ever justify jeopardising that.

Emil closed his eyes for a moment, heaving a deep sigh through his nose. He was sitting in the third row at the Lombardia Trophy with Michele, he was supposed to have fun, not reexamine his feelings for the umptenth utterly futile time. 

Opening his eyes he threw a glance to his left and summoned a bittersweet smile. He had been doing this for years, he could do it for one more night.

“Is JJ coming up next?” he asked hushedly, conjuring a scowl on Mickey’s face that made his own grin grow more sincere. 

“Yes.” Mickey replied with a glower.

“I don’t know why you don’t like him, he seems like an alright guy.” Emil said, making Michele look at him like he was growing another head “A little self-centred, yeah, but his music is really catchy! Plus he’s an actor like us. We gotta stick together.”

“No we don’t.” Michele rebutted tartly.

“Sure, be an unsociable grump, Mickey!” Emil teased, barking out a laugh that earned him a glare from a lady in the audience. He gave her an apologetic look just as the light shifted into something whiter, illuminating her face

“Holy… Mickey, that’s  _ Lilia Baranovskaya!”  _ he whispered, gripping Mickey’s sleeve and tugging urgently  “Madame Baranovskaya just glowered at me!”

“Yeah, I noticed her. So what?”

“ _ So what?  _ That’s… Mickey, she’s an  _ Oscar winning actress!  _ She worked with people like Tarkovsky-”

“I don’t see what the big deal is about.” Mickey shrugged.

“You don’t..” he trailed giving him an incredulous look. Mickey’s attitude towards fame never ceased to baffle him. 

He shook his head, turning his gaze back to the stage where JJ Leroy had just strolled leisurely towards the centre. The Canadian was sporting one of his trademark grins, flashing it to the hosts, Morooka and Sara. Emil caught Michele’s murderous look and he almost laughed, but then he remembered that  _ Madame Baranovskaya  _ was sitting behind him. He was not gonna get scolded by her again no matter how pleasing his inner fanboy found the experience.

Instead he focused on the first note of Leroy’s latest hit,  _ Theme of King JJ.  _ A top 10 pop song, it was also the soundtrack of the reality show JJ had been doing this season. After the success of the teen drama series  _ Partizan Hope,  _ the omnivorous showman had given reality TV a shot. And he was doing amazingly, if the hundreds of thousands of JJ Girls and Boys were anything to go by.

Emil tapped his foot in time with the music, earning a tart glare from Mickey to which he just shrugged mouthing

“It’s catchy.” to which the redhead gave him a flat look. “Oh c’mon Mickey, loosen up.” he whispered with a grin “This is fun and you know it.”

Mickey shook his head in defeat, and Emil decided they were going to have fun at the after party at least. And if the reasons to do so had more to do with the desire to see Mickey grin a drink in that sight than with the principle of things, Emil chose to ignore them.

Michele deserved to have fun every now and then

 


End file.
